Longing
by sylaha
Summary: Tony doesn't think he'll ever see Loki again after the battle in Manhattan, but even so, he can't stop thinking about their last encounter in his workshop. Tony/Loki.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm helplessly addicted to this pairing. This is an attempt at channeling that addiction into a story. I hope it's decent. Sorry it's so short; I didn't want to go into crazy detail during the dream. I hope to continue it in more depth once they're in the same room again. Reviews are love!**

4:16 AM.

Tony Stark was face-down in his king-sized bed, the expensive sheets coiling almost snake-like around his legs. A half-empty scotch bottle was on the nightstand, the light from the window making the glass sparkle. Beautiful alcoholism.

_Loki stood at the doorway to Tony's workshop, his lips curving into a slight smirk, piercing eyes following the back of the billionare's head as he worked. "I thought I'd find you here."_

After much tossing and turning, he was finally able to drift off to sleep. His breathing was deep, but it was not peaceful.

_"Well, hello again. If I'd known you were planning on appearing in my home, I would have cleaned up a bit."_

_Silence. Christ, those eyes._

_Tony returned the smirk. "Are you here to kill me? Or did you just miss me too much?"_

Fingers digging into his pillow. Eyes squeezing even tighter.

_The trickster was upon him in moments. His lips grazed Tony's ear, "I would never admit to such a thing." The icy breath sent a chill down Tony's spine like a bolt of lightning. Suddenly there were strong hands around his waist, pulling him tightly aginst Loki's slender frame. His breath hitched, trying to fight the conflicting emotions that were surging through his mind._

_This was bad. Right? Really, really bad. Fooling around with the enemy-in his own workshop-Loki, of all people-but oh jesus, that icy tongue was tracing his jawline, teeth were closing around his earlobe, and he was needy, selfish and terribly interested in the inner workings of this madman._

_Fuck. To hell with the rules._

Tony rolled onto his side, clutching the pillow tightly against him. His breathing was faster now- still deep, still longing.

_"Well, now you've hurt my feelings." He slid a hand up the back of Loki's neck, burying his fingers in his black hair and holding his head in place. "I certainly missed... this." He lightly traced the trickster's bottom lip with his tongue. Loki exhaled; a faint whine escaping his lips as Tony tugged harder on his hair. The control was intoxicating._

_"So cold," Tony murmured; his voice low, restrained. It was too much for Loki to resist. He shoved Tony foward, pressing his wrists against the table behind them, capturing his warm mouth, sucking roughly on his bottom lip._

The genius was now curled up tightly around his pillow. The sleepy moan he emitted was stifled against the fabric, and he buried his face further into its warmth. Again he turned, twisting the sheets further around himself in the process. He could almost feel the chill of Loki's skin, and he shivered, only half-asleep now, fighting to return to his dream, struggling to continue to lose himself in the oddly intoxicating memory.

There was only blackness, the sound of still air. It was no use.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his now sweaty hair. "Jarvis, give me some dim lights."

God _damnit_, Tony. What is _wrong_ with you?

He exhaled. This was not good. Ever since the workshop, ever since he'd-well, it was more Loki than him, honestly, though they had both enjoyed it, the raven-haired bastard-ever since _whatever_ it was, it'd kept him awake at night, waking up hard and panting and reasonably frustrated with himself. Digging his fingernails into pale skin, the scent of leather, cologne...

Shit. He couldn't stop.

In most situations like this, Tony would take what he wanted. He was a selfish man, and preferred to think about consequences _after_ actions. But not this time. Loki was gone. Hell, he was on another _planet_. Thor had said... well, he didn't want to think about it.

The scotch bottle met his lips as he took another swig, shutting his eyes, willing the same on his mind. This was not like him.

He knew, though, that despite his internal protests, there was a tiny part of him that craved these dreams and this state of mind.

That tiny part of him would not _shut the fuck up._

He laid his head back on the pillow, sighing. Whatever. He would just keep existing, keep fighting the good fight, keep pouring alcohol into his body until the memories faded. There wasn't much else he could do but try not to think about it.

"Jarvis, lights off."

He turned to bury his face in his pillow once again.

"Fuck you, Loki."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all the favorites and reviews. I'm honored. I feel like a lot of people who read chapter 1 thought it was a one-shot (and I did write it so it could be one), but I've got ideas... so here we are. I kinda wanted to cry writing this chapter, but it will get happier soon, I promise.**

The dull crack of a staff meeting skull is a unique, unmistakable sound. The strangled cry that follows-even moreso. When the prison chambers were built, the Chitauri had designed the vaulted ceilings specifically to cause any noises to echo throughout the vast space of the cell floor. Every scream, every plea for mercy, every choked sob was meant to strike fear into those trapped within the blood-soaked walls.

_"If you fail... if the Tesseract is kept from us... there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where we can't find you. You think you know pain? It will make you long for something sweeter..."_

Loki was hunched over in the corner of his cell, curled tightly into a ball in an attempt to keep any sort of heat that his body produced from escaping. A hot stream of blood was coursing down his cheek, and he relished the warmth. Cold was an ever familiar state to the Jotun prince; his touch was icy and his heart had become the same. But this... this was more than a winter chill. There was something about this place that seemed to slowly feed on every thought or memory of what once was, leaving his mind empty and devoid of hope.

The past few weeks were a fog. Was it weeks, now? It felt like years. Any notion of time had been lost when he was thrown into this alien prison. All the pain had blurred together; he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memories.

_Rough hands picked him up by the under his arms. He felt the nauseating strike of a steel boot to his stomach as he collided with the wall._

_"Eat your bread, Asgardian scum." The sound of the steel door slamming shut caused him to wince._

Loki clung to the dreamless abyss of sleep at every opportunity. He needed every ounce of strength he could get. Deep gashes and countless bloody scratches covered his body; every part of him was raw and aching for relief. With his magic, he knew could heal them all in mere _seconds_... it was a powerful temptation, and he was so accustomed to ridding himself of injuries in an instant. Oh, how mortal he felt.

"_Stop_, Loki," he thought, commanding himself. "Your self-pity is pathetic. You must endure this until you are strong enough to escape this place."

Loki pulled his knees tighter to his chest, shivering. He knew that any amount of healing would set him back by a factor of days. This place drained him of energy, and the torture was breaking him even further, but he was determined to escape. He _had_ to.

The Chitauri were a powerful race, but they knew naught of the power that the God of Mischief posessed. They thought him inches from death, but he could feel his magic slowly strengthening; he was given only bits of bread and small amounts of water each day, and the beatings were relentless. If he could only regain enough of his power, he could transport himself away from this nightmare.

Loki sighed into his palms. There was one problem that he'd been turning over in his mind since he had decided to escape-where would he go once he did?

Truthfully, anywhere was better than here. Asgard? No, that would just as soon lead back to this place. He had returned briefly to the kingdom with his brother, but soon after was handed over to the Chitauri, Thor's teary gaze following him until he was out of sight.

Let him weep. He was a fool, believing their disguises and their lies. They had come to the palace disguised as executioners, dragging him off to a 'painless death', they had said. The steely muzzle that had been secured onto his face remained, and he had no choice but to submit to their tricks as his adoptive family looked on.

He didn't want to admit it, but unless he wanted to risk waiting even longer in this hellhole while he recovered further to travel to an unfamiliar realm, the only option remaining was to return to Midgard-to Earth. The destruction he had wrought was fresh, he knew, but the Avengers and their precious government thought him dead. He could hide in plain sight with the knowledge that he could be halfway across the world in the time it took to snap his fingers.

Even so, where would he go? Surely he had enough dignity remaining to refuse to sleep in their streets. He would be weak, vulnerable; his wounds fresh and his power completely drained. There _was_ one possibility... one place that gave him a fraction of a chance of finding refuge, if only temporary.

_"Tell me again why you don't come visit more ofte-ah-often, oh god, you tease-"_

_The trickster was busy drawing circles with his tongue along Tony's collarbone, simultaneously running fingertips along the hem of his oil-stained jeans, tracing patterns on the inside of the man's thigh. Loki felt Tony's warm hand cupping the back of his head, making small, massaging circles of his own._

_Tony made a small noise of disapproval when Loki's mouth left his shoulder. "You really are evil. Jesus."_

_It was the third time that he had appeared in the billionaire's workshop-away from the tesseract, away from everything; an escape. A sense of familiarity was beginning to creep into Tony's touch, and it caused Loki to pause, breath caught in his throat. He averted his gaze. "Gentle is not a kind of touch I deal with often." Taking a step back, he scanned the room. "Perhaps it is best I leave you to your...work. This is-you are mortal, you-"_

_He was cut off by a hard kiss, a small bite on his bottom lip. Loki didn't pull away. "You talk too much." Tony leaned into the trickster's ear. "No more gentle. I can do that."_

Loki had shut his eyes tightly at the thought of it, trying to forget; hot tears pooled in his eyes, one of them sliding down his cheek, burning the gashes as it passed. He knew it was foolish to think that Tony Stark, the playboy and the _hero_, thought anything more of him than a drunken conquest, but it beat the alternatives. He was badly injured and would stand no chance amidst strange mortals and their petty ways. Stark Tower was his only option.

He cursed himself for being so weak, so _pathetic_, but the memory was the closest thing he had felt to warmth in some time, and he couldn't help but lose himself in it, if only for a moment. He had little control over his emotions; every ounce of his willpower was fighting the urge to heal his physical state, which left little to keep up a hard exterior. He was alone, after all; he couldn't find the energy keep the tears at bay. One by one, they silently fell, sharp pain spreading throughout his face; he slowly slid sideways, his bruised temple finally meeting the concrete. It almost felt soft in contrast to the ache of broken bone and the sting of uncovered lacerations.

_Please, let this pass._


	3. Chapter 3

**Time for some fun. Hope you guys enjoy. Please review! This is my first time writing Frostiron, so feedback is much appreciated.**

* * *

"Sir. I apologize for... interrupting, but Nick Fury is on the line."

A muffled groan came from under the large pile of blankets that were now shifting slightly on Tony's bed. "God damnit. Does he have any idea what time it is?"

"It's past noon, sir."

Suddenly the blanket pile was heaved to the foot of the bed. "Yeah, shit. Put him on. And shut those blinds."

"Of course."

Reasonably loud white noise began to play over the intercom. Must be on a heilocopter.

"Good _morning_, Stark."

Tony took a deep breath, ensuring his lungs were still functional and trying to avoid making the throbbing pain at the back of his skull any worse.

"Always love waking up to the sound of your voice."

"I'm sure. Up late reading those blueprints for the 32nd and Broadway rennovations, I hope."

He sat up in bed, rubbing his temples.

"Yeah, let's go with that one. Remind me again why "Earth's mightiest heroes" are on cleanup duty?"

"Good one. Why don't you ask the thousands of workers that are out there shoveling debris from sun-up to sun-_down_?"

"Yeah, yeah. Maximize efficiency, guide innovative rebuilding projects, and make sure no one wakes up to an alien eyeball in their coffee. I do my homework."

"Good. You'll find some sensitive information regarding the Grand Central project in your e-mail. Rogers, Banner and Barton have it, too. I'd appreciate your feedback by the end of the day."

Tony was already skimming through the files on his tablet.

"This is what you called about? I check my e-mail more often than I answer my phone, you know that."

Fury chuckled lightly. "This is more fun."

The transmission ended before Tony could reply. Shouting at the ceiling was a decent alternative.

He laid back against the pillow, eyes lingering on the empty scotch bottle that rested on the table beside him. Note to self: never, _ever_ drink again. At least his drunken self planned ahead, he thought, gulping down the pain pills that were resting by the bottle.

He needed a long shower. A hot meal wouldn't hurt, either. The more distractions the better. This subconscious lusting after the guy who tried to blow up Manhattan only weeks ago was getting _very_ old. His liver was starting to think so, too.

"Jarvis, copy everything to the secure server and delete the email. And...start the coffee, if you don't mind." Somehow he'd managed to stand up, and was absentmindedly rummaging around for some clean clothes to pull on.

"Done, sir."

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ he is _missing_?" The Chitauri leader's voice was raised, sharp with anger. "In case you have somehow forgotten, this prison is an impenetrable fortress that no creature has _ever_ escaped. We are billions of miles away from any speck of life, and you mean to tell me that he just _vanished_?"

The guard was staring intently at his feet. "The prisoner was in his cell this morning at first rations, sir. There was not a sound from the entire block. He was just... he was not there when it was time for se-"

Any further explanation that the guard had prepared to present was lost when his head was severed by the Chitauri leader's sword, who cooly re-sheathed his blade, stepping aside as the blood from his victim began to pool on the stone floor.

"Sir, I think it not wise to slaughter the sole witness of the incedent before he finishes his testimony."

"He was a fool; he had no information."

His second-in-command bowed his head at the words, and began to walk towards the chamber door. "I suspect it could not hurt to investigate the prisoner's cell further."

"Report back at once."

He bowed his head once again. "I will return shortly."

* * *

"Oh come _oon_, Steve. It's been what, a month?"

"Yes, yes, I know. That does sound like an enjoyable evening. However, Fury has requested that I do some reading..."

He could almost hear the soldier pouting through the phone. How adorable.

"Oh, we all got that. Teamwork is kinda our thing, right? Let's do it together. I mean, I don't want to cut into ballet lessons..."

Tony smirked at the protest that followed. "Look, I've already talked to Bruce and Clint. It'll be like a little reunion. I can even show you guys the rennovations! You'd never be able to guess that the diva from space tried to turn my penthouse into his own personal _Broadway _show."

Steve laughed. "Okay, okay. You make a convincing argument. I'll see you around 5."

"Good man. I'll meet you in the lobby."

Tony had kept himself busy in his workshop for the better part of the afternoon catching up on things he _should_ have been doing the night before. Most of the actual 'cleaning up' had been finished within two weeks of the battle, which made sense- people had to get around. Thankfully the amount of building chunks and alien limbs littering the streets were almost nonexistent now, which meant 'Step 2' was well underway. There were countless offices, restaurants, and shops in need of rebuilding, and while a lot of that was handled by the respective owners, some projects that would take workers weeks to complete could be tackled in a day when The Avengers were added to the equation.

The community had been surprisingly supportive of the process, too. Something about their heroic band of misfits had really hit home with the city of New York-the world, really. For the first week or so he couldn't help but stare at news channels in disbelief, seeing little kids posing in Iron Man masks or dragging around tiny Captain America shields. He'd stopped to grab a sandwich at a deli on the way home the other day and was barely able to escape the place after a mob of people with notebooks and pens stormed in within minutes.

Tony was no stranger to fame- "Stark" was plastered on one of the tallest buildings in the city, after all. He was already recognizeable before the red and gold suit had transformed him from a CEO into some kind of superhero, and even then, he could still go out in public without needing an oxygen mask.

The whole spectacle with The Avengers was something else entirely, that was for sure. He wondered how the other guys were taking it. Something told him Bruce wasn't the kind of guy to enjoy being attacked by screaming fans on the way to the barber. In a way, it was almost heartwarming... they did kinda save the world, after all.

It was almost 5. Tony drained the last of the glass that was resting by the door, reminding himself that he was _not_ going to let himself get too drunk around these guys. If the last couple of nights said anything, it was that his mind was getting very good at wandering, _especially _when intoxicated.

Hell, he'd even re-arranged the tables in his workshop in an attempt to avoid thinking about the last time someone was down here with him. Every time he'd stood at that spot, it was hard not to imagine a pale body pressing him against the workbench, a leather-covered knee sliding between his thighs...

"Sir, Mr. Banner awaits you in the lobby."

Fuck. How was re-arranging everything supposed to help if he kept thinking about it anyway?

He stood in the elevator shifting uncomfortably, trying to will away his erection by picturing dead animals and pulling his jacket down a bit further than necessary.

_Ding._

Deep breaths. Okay.

Entering the lobby, he was pleased to see that Steve and Clint had arrived as well. Steve was beaming like an idiot, contrasted nicely by Bruce and Clint, who seemed fairly uncomfortable in their new surroundings.

"Hey, uh. Welcome. Glad to see you guys are all still in one piece."

"Shocker, ain't it?" Clint mused.

"I think SHIELD has been keeping us all out of trouble with all of this... well, you know." Bruce gestured at the stack of paint cans still in the corner.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I guess that depends on your definition of trouble. Shall we?"

They stepped into the elevator, Steve regaling them all with a story about a recent visit to a daycare that had just finished with repairs. When they exited, the other three Avengers looked confused.

"This isn't how I remembered your penthouse," questioned Bruce. They had stepped off into a large observation deck, a tiny plaque that read _Stark Tower _adorning the wall.

Tony grinned. "Patience, darling! Jarvis?"

Almost instantly, the opposite wall transformed, sliding apart to reveal a glossy, red elevator door.

"Oh!" Steve noted, impressed. "That's more like it, mister technology."

They were stopped by a silghtly worried voice from above. "Sir. I would advise some last minute cleaning before bringing your guests all the way up."

Clint burst out laughing, causing Bruce and Steve to chuckle quietly themselves. "I'm starting to like this Jarvis guy."

Tony glared at them. "Oh, shut up. I'll be right back. Enjoy the view."

Once he'd stepped inside the elevator, he let his understanding demeanor drop. Not only was his penthouse spotless, but Jarvis was not designed to remind him to pick up his underwear.

"Jarvis, this better be good." A bit of worry was beginning to creep into his own voice.

Tony exited the elevator, quickly scanning surfaces and furniture for something out of place. Bar clean, floor shining, windows crystal clear...oh. He noticed a few books strewn across the floor by his sofa, looking as though they'd fallen when a bookend had slid too far. Hesitantly walking over to pick them up, he rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Jarvis, since when is a couple of misplaced books reason to embarr-"

He froze mid-sentence, his eyes locked on what came into view as he passed the bar.

Oh. _Fuck._

"He appeared here rather ungracefully, almost immediately after you reached the lobby, sir. He appears to be unconscious and very badly injured. Shall I alert the others?"

Blood was pounding in Tony's ears. Sure enough, lying behind his bar in _his _penthouse was the God of Mischief himself. His armor was dirty and torn, the filth mixing with the countless bloody cuts and bruises that marked his flesh. _Shit, _did that look serious. Tony would have assumed him dead if not for Jarvis' assessment.

"Sir?"

"Uhh, no. Don't alert anyone. Of anything. Not yet, at least." Tony's mind was racing. This was a very poorly timed magic trick. What the hell was Loki doing here? And _who_ the hell did he piss off?

Tony knew that if he were to immediately turn the god over to SHIELD, Loki would be dead in less than a day. They weren't about to risk a repeat of the last time he was in town. And...that was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Quick and easy, no more villain? But Loki had come _here_. Of every realm, every state, every building, he chose Stark Tower, knowing full well Tony was the enemy.

Maybe it was a trick. Maybe Loki was trying to exploit... whatever it was that happened between them, using that advantage to get back at the team of superheroes that had so recently defeated him and his army. Actually, the more Tony thought about it, that sounded extremely likely.

"Sir, if immediate arrest is not your plan, I would advise leaving him in your bedroom for the time being. Your guests are starting to wonder if I'm giving you a spanking."

Right. The Avengers were waiting.

His...bedroom. He cringed. Jarvis was right, though- unless he wanted to spend a half hour lugging the trickster down to his workshop, armor and all, his bed was the only option that was out of sight. This had to be a dream. A really bizarre, bloody dream.

Carefully bending down to lift Loki's body, he tried to avoid as many wounds as he could- it was impossible to avoid them all. His pale skin was ice cold against Tony's hands...much colder than he'd ever felt. Given the massive blood loss, it wasn't a surprise.

The billionare made several frustrated noises as he slowly walked down the hall to his bedroom, nudging the door open with his head. For as skinny as Loki appeared, he was _not _light. Thankfully, Tony had been inadvertently training for this day and was able to successfully transport the wounded god into his bed without much struggle.

_His_ bed. Ugh.

The _real _problem was the blood. His heart sank as he turned around, noting the red streaks that were now painted along his walls; the crimson liquid pooled on his floor, saturated his clothes. He could see his sheets slowly becoming saturated as well. This was bad. This was _really _bad.

Tony tried to think, despite the minor panic attack he was having. He knelt next to his bed, eyes tracing the shapes formed by the bloody gashes. Some looked as though they were the result of beatings; others made it seem like someone had taken a knife to Loki's skin to carve ancient symbols or some sort of alien language. The cuts alternated between shallow and deep depending on the vital organs that were nearby. Whoever had done this was clearly trying to keep Loki alive...alive and in as much pain as possible.

It made him sick to his stomach; he had to look away. The wounds desperately needed treatment, but that would take hours. Right now, three of the Avengers were patiently waiting for him just floors below. Three men who would have Fury on the phone in seconds if they found out Loki had returned to Earth and was hanging out in Tony's bed. Jesus, was he really going to help this guy?

As much as it killed him to admit, he knew the God of Mischief would have to wait. He was supposed to be immortal, right? Magical healing powers and all of that? Maybe it'd be his lucky day and Loki would be gone by the time he returned, he thought dully, quickly changing out of his blood-soaked clothes.

For a brief moment, he let his palm rest on the god's cheek before hurrying across the penthouse to his elevator, formulating excuses about the delay and his new set of clothing along the way. He had no idea what he was going to say, but at this point, anything was more believable than the truth.

_Jesus, Loki. Who did this to you?_


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys are wonderful. Thank you for every review, alert and favorite. I hope you enjoy this one! I'm a bit delirious from being sick for the past 3 days, so I'm praying none of that transitioned into my writing. Feedback appreciated, as always.**

* * *

"About time, Star-oh! Uh, let me..."

Steve stepped forward and grabbed two of the five bottles that Tony had managed to balance in his arms. He had nearly tripped stepping out of the elevator, which would have lead to a cruel fate for the liquor, replacable as it was.

Bruce was attempting to stifle his laughter. Clint raised an eyebrow. "This is one kind of cleaning, I s'pose?"

Their reactions were met with an eyeroll. "Sorry to keep you_ ladies _waiting. Jarvis was kindly alerting me to a leak that has turned my penthouse into a _very_ expensive puddle. Turns out the rennovations weren't quite as done as I'd thought." Somehow he had a feeling the God of Mischief was going to make sure of that before the night was over.

Steve was examining the vodka in his hands. "Yikes. That explains the new clothes-and here I was, thinking you'd given up your love of Black Sabbath t-shirts."

"Oh, you know me better than that, Rogers. So, seeing as the penthouse is now out of the question, we'll be over here..."

The three men followed unquestioningly.

Christ, he just_ lied_ to the _Avengers_. That was not how he expected this evening to begin-understatement of the year, really.

It was a necessary evil, though; after re-evaluating the amount of bloodstains that now decorated the walls and floor of his penthouse, there was no way he could have cleaned them up in time. Which, he realized, meant that he could have left the trickster on the floor and saved his clothes _and_ his sheets... oh well. Too late now.

His mind was still reeling from the amount of shit that had happened in the past half-hour; the image of Loki's body, pale flesh bloody and mutilated, would not leave his mind, and the unanswered questions were almost worse. Tony knew one thing, though: there was not enough booze in the world to fix this, but he could sure as hell try.

They reached the end of the hallway, which opened up conveniently in to something resembling a common room. Leather couches formed a circle around a polished black table which honestly looked more like a flatscreen on its side. The walls were adorned with various displays and control panels as well as a few pieces of art that, while pretty, were really just put up to make Pepper happy. Nothing beat the far wall, though- it was entirely glass; a large window that caputured the buildings below them in a painfully artisitic way.

"Shit, Tony. Can I move in?" Clint was staring out at the city.

"There's more than one reason I made this building so tall. Contrary to popular belief."

He shot a glare at Steve who just rolled his eyes, setting down the bottles and making himself comfortable on the nearest couch. "I'm sure. Let's get down to it, then?"

"Let's play a game." Tony picked up his tablet, sending the files to the table so that they hovered in clear view. The documents they were to review were clearly lengthy, which he didn't hesitate to demonstrate. "For every time this uses the words "growth", "positive", "expansion" or "development", we're all taking a shot. Feel free to do so anyway, by the way. It's good stuff."

Steve looked worried. "I really don't think that's what Fury meant by _work_, Tony."

Tony extended a hand to pinch the Captain's cheek. "You're so cute when you're ruining all the fun. We'll get the work done, I promise. The alcohol is here to make this fat stack of building plans less of a chore." Steve didn't look convinced, but the reminder of the length of the task at hand was enough to make him sigh and shrug his shoulders despite any internal protest.

Bruce looked surprisingly confident. "Thankfully the... other guy isn't triggered by blood alcohol content. I've gotten drunker than I thought possible and that was _before_ I could control it. I'll be fine."

"I will drink you all under the table." A devilish smirk had crept onto Clint's face. "Twice over."

Tony was returning the smirk. "That's the _spirit_! However, I really hope you know who you're dealing with. I practically run on the stuff. You could get drunk off of my blood."

_Don't mention blood, Tony. Jesus._

The billionare pulled four glasses out of the cabinet, setting them on the table with a thud. Wow, new record, he thought to himself: less than an hour and you're already breaking your personal promise to _not_ get absolutely shit-faced tonight.

He had to cut himself a little bit of slack, though. Loki was in his bed. Oh god. His _bed_.

Right this second, just a few floors above their heads was one of SHIELD's most wanted criminals, and if he were being completely honest with himself, a tiny part of him _enjoyed_ that fact due to some deadly sense of morbid curiosity. If Tony wanted a chance of actually being able to focus on anything but that fact, he needed to drink quickly; he worked best when over the legal limit anyway...

"..._positive_ change for the city, that's one, Stark!"

Banner's voice snapped him out of it, and he raised his glass, finishing the half that remained. Getting drunk with the Avengers sounded like a very welcome distraction.

* * *

_"You're missing the point. There's no throne, there's no version of this where you come out on top."_

Loki awoke with a gasp, followed by a hiss of pain at the sharp ache it caused throughout his chest. Several of his ribs were still broken, not aided by the stinging gashes on the skin that surrounded them. His head was throbbing and sore; his mouth dry and his lips cracked...perhaps if he tried to focus on the soft material beneath him, he would be able to slip back into sleep's grasp and temporarily shut this place out...

Wait._ Soft_?

His eyes opened wide, the sudden realization that he was no longer a prisoner leaving him short of breath. Last he remembered, he was face-down on the stone floor, muttering ancient phrases and channeling every ounce of strength he posessed into the spell. He forced himself to imagine every possible detail of Stark Tower he still could, praying that no one were to pass by his cell; every inch of him seemed to ignite and compress into itself, the burning sensation spreading to his core until everything was swirling darkness; he was falling, dizzy and cold and then there was nothing at all.

Nothing...and now, he was met again with darkness. The stone was replaced with something far softer, cradling his bruised body like silk. Was it silk? The stench of filth and blood was gone, too; in its place was the faint hint of cologne, alcohol, clean clothes. His mind was cloudy and his thoughts were dancing around his mind in some kind of pain-induced delerium, making it very difficult to focus on anything at all.

As he laid there trying to piece together the situation, his vision began to adjust to the darkness. It appeared he was in some kind of room, not small, but smaller than his former cell, to be sure. There was a faint outline of a door frame, a wardrobe, strange shapes on the walls. He simply wasn't able to see much more than that due to his restricted line of sight. His eyelids were heavy and he let out a small noise of annoyance at his physical state. _I need to figure out where I've ended up..._

"Nnnnnnnnnngggg."

Loki froze. A low, sleepy noise had filled the room. A noise not made by him. He was not alone. How had he not noticed this heavy breathing before?

It was a painful maneuver, but he forced himself to adjust his body's positioning slightly so that he could better examine his surroundings. Was he in danger? He was on edge, a hint of fear creeping into his senses; he knew he was defenseless against whatever creature-

Oh. Okay. That was... _acceptable_.

The trickster's mind swirled with a mixture of relief and panic. There, lying next to him, curled up like an infant, was Tony Stark himself; hair a mess, breath smelling of vodka, shirt half-unbuttoned, one sock missing. It was almost surreal how innocent and child-like the man looked as he slept. Not long ago, Loki had watched with utter fascination as he caused this man's face to contort with absolute _ecstacy_ and now here he was, watching the man _sleep_. This was more than surreal, in fact. Borderline _insane_.

Honestly, he admitted, this was good. Better than he could have possibly hoped for. He was not only free of his alien captors, but that setting had not been immediately replaced with that of SHIELD's facilities, which he knew would be all too happy to have him. He was safe, at least for now.

It was hard to believe. Tony hadn't turned him in. He was letting the injured god share his bed. Oh god, he'd even _tucked him in_. Loki felt a twinge of emotion surge through him. It had been a long time since anyone had treated him with anything resembling hospitality-no. He forced himself to think realistically. Tony was clearly drunk and incapable of making such a choice.

"Thanks," Loki breathed. It was barely a whisper. Squeezing his eyes shut yet again, he welcomed the soothing hands of sleep; instead, he felt a very real hand around his waist. The pressure stung, but he endured it.

"Mmmn. Don'ention it." Tony was still half-asleep and mostly intoxicated, but he was able to summon the willpower required to form a somewhat coherent sentence.

"You better be'er whenna wake up."

When Tony didn't recieve a response, he turned so that his head was resting just under Loki's chin; the arm that was now dangerously close to groping him was tightening its grip.

He placed a light kiss on the god's throat. "A'mmised ya."

Loki stiffened at the contact, not sure what to make of what _seemed _like affectionate advances from the Avenger...who was now breathing softly against his shoulder.

"Yes." Loki's voice was low; hesitant. He knew Tony's words were fueled by liquor and dreams; when morning came and the haze faded, it would be much harder to convince the billionaire to let him stay.

Despite it all, Loki could not deny that this was nice. This felt _good. _After weeks of torture in a place devoid of hope or warmth, Tony Stark's arm was wrapped around his waist; the flesh on his neck still tingled from where his lips had briefly touched. He hadn't realized how taxing it was to keep his guard up so adamantly for so long until he let it slip, if only for a moment.

Loki felt sickeningly vulnerable, but the demand of his aching body for rest won out. He let himself relax into the touch, embracing the feeling as much as he could and letting it soothe his mind.

_Just for this one night._


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this took so long. Life likes to get in the way. Enjoy (and review if you can spare a few seconds) :)**

* * *

If someone were to walk into Tony Stark's kitchen on this particular Sunday morning, they would probably assume that someone had broken in during the night and searched the place. Alternatively, they'd guess that the billionare had some kind of psychotic meltdown upon awakening and decided to take it out on his home.

Given the current circumstance—that is, the fact that the God of Mischief himself was asleep on Tony's bed, being obscenely adorable as he snuggled with a silk-lined pillow—neither guess was entirely out of the realm of possibility.

On most days, the kitchen (and the entire penthouse, really) was nothing short of immaculate. Pepper made sure of that. In fact, with Tony's recent diet of liquor and takeout, the state-of-the-art kitchen had barely been touched.

At the moment, though, the glossy countertops were barely visible underneath countless stacks of plates, bowls, glasses of every shape and size, unopened boxes of cereal, cans of expensive-looking caviar—the contents of every cabinent in the room seemed to have been strewn across them with little afterthought.

"_Found_ you!"

The frustrated noise came from the left side of the room. Tony knelt by a row of drawers, their contents littering the floor around him in a crude half-circle. His hair was sloppily pushed to the side, a look of pure annoyance on his face. In his hand was a plastic box, the words "FIRST AID" printed across the front in cherry red ink. _Finally._

The billionaire had woken up in a bit of a haze. The alcohol in his bloodstream had yet to completely subside, and it was difficult to resist the urge to pull the sheets over his head and hide in bed for the rest of the day. At least he wasn't _terribly_ hungover this time. Steve had made sure of that, what with the endless glasses of water he had started bringing them. The caring bastard.

Once they'd gotten through the majority of Fury's work and everyone (Rogers included, despite the serum) had a few drinks under their belt, the night had transformed into something far more competitive. Tony enjoyed calling everyone a "fairy princess" when he felt that they had gone too long without alcohol touching their lips, resulting in a prideful shot of tequila from Clint, who would in turn slide refilled glasses to the other two; Bruce, clever sonofabitch, would insist that Clint needed to drink with them for fairness, and Tony, his ego now depending completely on the fact that he could hold more liquor than the other 3 men, would pour _two_ shots...it was a cycle, and it only concluded when the last drop had been drained from every one of the bottles.

To be fair, it was also difficult to continue playing cards when they had dropped about a third of the deck on the floor (which at that point seemed _very _far away). So, eventually they sobered up enough to yell at Jarvis for a cab.

* * *

3:32 AM.

Tony was left to his empty penthouse, head spinning slightly as he forced himself to walk to his bedroom. He'd never admit it to anyone, but that evening was the most fun he'd had in a good while. The billionaire had never been one to keep many _real_ friends. Clubs, parties and banquets were a sort of numb enjoyment for him at this point; his ego certainly enjoyed the praise that came along with them, but there was something unfamiliar yet relaxing about spending time with his new teammates.

Sitting down on his bed, he was very confused to feel a patch of dampness...and was that a boot? Attached... to a leg?

The fog that was causing his head to throb cleared slightly at the unwelcome realization.

Oh. _Right._

Well, the liquor had the desired effect, at leas—he'd completely forgotten about his Asgardian guest. Shit, this was _blood_ that was causing his sheets to feel wet. That was one way to kill a buzz.

Tony carefully laid down, curling up to avoid touching the sleeping god. He knew he should have been far more concerned about Loki's injuries, but at the time, the appeal of the obscenly soft bed beneath him was far too strong for him to resist (and really, he couldn't do much of anything helpful in his current state).

Feeling out the darkness, he ran his fingertips over Loki's neck, wincing slightly at the texture of the wounds as he brushed the damaged skin. The god was still cold, but it was not the deathly chill he had felt earlier. Breathing a sigh of relief at the subtle pulse he felt, he resolved to deal with it later, as terrible as it felt to put this off yet again.

_Hang in there, or I'll kill you._

* * *

Tony gulped down the last of his coffee, turning the plastic box over in his hand. The drink was slightly too hot and burned his throat, but he relished the pain as it flooded his body with warmth and sharpened his consciousness. It was his fourth cup this morning; how people lived without the stuff was a mystery.

A piece of toast between his teeth, he walked back into his bedroom, emptying the kit's contents onto the floor. A small mountain of gauze, bandages, pills and disinfectant. Good.

Grabbing a fistful of the materials, his eyes lingered on Loki's face. Tony felt his pulse quicken at the thought of what he was going to have to do. Pepper was the only person who had ever touched this kit when she was still his assistant (which resulted in Tony tearing half the goddamn _kitchen_ apart to find it) and he wasn't about to use up the one in his workshop. He wasn't usually one to play nurse, but considering the patient's identity, this was really the only option.

Taking a deep breath, he began to apply the foul-smelling liquid to the cuts scattered across Loki's face. It was hard not to stare, the god's peaceful expression contrasting so harshly with the painfully deep crimson. He wondered if they would scar.

Loki had powerful control over his magic, he had seen that firsthand, but for some reason, the wounds had barely healed since Tony had first seen them. At least the bleeding had mostly stopped.

As he reached the column of Loki's neck, the realization of what the task at hand would _actually_ require hit him like bricks. Of course the damage wouldn't just stop at the neckline of his armor. If Tony was anxious before, he didn't really know what to call his current state; it was a strange mix of anticipation, arousal, and absolute terror. Honestly, he thought, there was a good chance that Loki would wake up and slit Tony's throat without a single moment's hesitation. Maybe even conjure a knife to do the job, if he was feeling fancy.

_Tony Stark, you are fucking insane. You have completely lost it, you are going to die right here, right now, in your own bedroom._

His hands were already unfastening the leather straps near Loki's shoulder.

Breath caught in his throat as he peeled the damaged armor away from the trickster's chest. What should have been smooth, pale flesh was ugly, purple, and swollen. Awestruck, he scanned the countless bruises, following the patterns as they swirled around Loki's torso, varying shades of red and pink mixing with the deep violet that made up the majority of the wounds. If it weren't for the fact that it made Tony's stomach turn the instant he saw them, it could have been some sick, twisted form of art.

The armor Loki had been wearing was caked with dirt and smelled strongly of blood and sweat; it was torn and damaged so heavily that Tony was able to cut it off with minimal effort. He'd have to find some spare clothes...

A small sighing noise suddenly came from the bed, which caused the billionaire to drop the bottle of disinfectant that in his hand. Jesus, his nerves were wound tighter than Fury's ass. _Calm the fuck_ _down,_ he told himself._ He's too injured to fight._

As he was reaching down to retrieve the disinfectant, he felt the bed shift. "I... where am I?"

Loki's voice was small and weak. Gone was the confidence and condescension that usually laced his every word.

Suddenly Tony's heart was in his throat. He attempted to act normally despite the fact that he was sitting above a helpless, shirtless god.

"You're uh... kinda hurt. I just... thought I'd let you know."

Well, he tried.

Loki shut his eyes. "I am very aware."

Tony kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, continuing to lightly wipe the disinfectant-covered gauze over the bruises, which caused Loki to hiss in pain. He could feel Loki's fingertips digging into the sheets. _Jesus, this was too much._

"Ordinarily, I—ah—would be threatening your life for getting within ten feet of me, but I—oh—suppose I should keep that to myself in this situation." The trickster's voice was strained and tight as he spoke.

"You did sort of appear in my house. I think at least a 'thank you' would suffice. Or maybe an_ explanation._" His words sounded harsher than he intended.

Silence. As the gauze touched a particularly purple area, a choked gasp escaped his lips, clearly one that he was attempting to stifle. Tony paused, looking up hesitantly.

He wanted to run. He wanted to slam the door and sprint until he couldn't see Stark Tower anymore and his legs were giving out. But he couldn't so much as leave the room. For whatever goddamn reason, he felt the most powerful urge to help the liesmith who laid before him.

Loki was now the one avoiding eye contact, tears glistening in emerald eyes. Even though Tony knew it was an uncontrollable physical reaction to the pain, he couldn't help but feel responsible.

"Sorry. No explanations. At least, not yet." _Good job, Stark. Keep being a dick. That's the best way to make this situation better._

Picking up more gauze, he leaned a little closer, inspecting the cleaned wounds. Loki was tense and clearly on edge; he almost seemed scared.

"Look. I don't know why you're here, I don't know...what happened, but you _are_ here. And you're safe now. Okay?" Tony felt like the words were getting caught in his throat; villain or not, this was fucking depressing. "I wouldn't be sitting here trying my damnedest to help you heal if that wasn't the truth."

Loki's eyes lingered on the billionaire's hands. He exhaled, seemingly relaxing a bit.

"I was tortured. Had to... escape," his breath was ragged as he tried to form the words. "Had naught the magic to go elsewhere, or to heal."

No magic. So that's why he was still a bloody mess.

"It...pains me to speak, Stark."

Tony jumped to his feet, feeling like an idiot. "I have something for you. One sec."

Returning with a glass of water, he scooped up a small packet from where the unused gauze and bandages were still piled up. Pepper had always made certain that he didn't overdo it on pain medication when he'd be injured in the past, but he'd managed to sneak some extra doses in the off chance that he'd have a medical emergency that needed to be hidden from his faithful assistant. This wasn't exactly what Tony had in mind at the time, and he wasn't certain if an Asgardian would even be_ affected_ by the capsules, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"I need you to take these. They'll dull the pain."

Loki squinted up at him, eyeing the pills suspiciously.

"I hope they work as you say."

Thankfully, despite the injuries, he was still able to make use of his arms, taking the medicine from Tony. Whoever had done this to him must have wanted him to be able to feed himself.

The billionaire was now awkwardly cupping the back of Loki's head in an attempt to lift his upper body to make swallowing possible. He placed the other hand on the curve of his back, pressing firmly against the bare flesh, enough that Loki was now being held in a half-sitting position. Tony's gaze was fixed on the wall behind the bed, ensuring he didn't look at Loki, who's face was now mere inches from his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the red of Loki's lips, their corners forming a smirk. _Damnit. _Tony knew that despite his attempt at a neutral expression, his eyes were completely giving him away.

"Stark... I have not forgotten abou—"

Tony cut him off sharply.

"_Take. Them._"

His words were strained. It took immense willpower to continue keeping his eyes on the wall. That unmistakable smell of winter and mint and just a _hint_ of cologne was stirring memories in the back of his mind—now his fingers were subconsciously burying themselves deeper in Loki's soft, matted hair, and his face was _right there_ and he was so _vulnerable_ and—

The loud ring of his cell caused him to snap back to reality, almost dropping Loki's head as his muscles reflexively lurched towards the device. He gently returned the god's torso to the bed after ensuring the capsules had been swallowed, and without a second glance, immediately hurried out of the room towards the kitchen. He tried to ignore the tightness he felt in his pants, muttering a stream of curses under his breath.

_Saved by the bell. Holy shit._


	6. Chapter 6

**This update is so overdue. I'm sorry. ;_; Aside from the usual excuses, I really wanted to make sure I knew where I was going with this and how I wanted to write it. Much of FrostIron focuses on the process of the two of them going from complete enemies to some kind of relationship, but they started off in different territory, so I hope this doesn't seem like it's going too fast and that they're still in character. Feedback appreciated. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

"Rogers, I have never been happier to hear your voice."

Tony's voice was flat. He found himself leaning against the wall at the opposite side of his penthouse, phone pressed against his cheek, eyes pointed out the window and not really seeing anything but bright sun and twinkling glass.

"...Interesting. You okay, Iron Man?"

It was then that he realized his feet had carried him here, this spot by the window, the farthest he could possibly be from his bedroom without leaving the penthouse.

Steve pressed on. "You don't sound okay. I made sure to give you extra water last night, more than the others ev-"

"Relax, darling, I'm completely fine. Not even hungover. Everything's great." Tony was going for reassuring, but he was sure his sarcasm bled through. Somehow, Steve didn't seem to notice. This lying to the Avengers business was growing old quickly. Not a habit he wanted to get into, really.

"Well, okay. I'm just reminding you that we're meeting SHIELD in an hour. The details may have... escaped you."

SHIELD meeting? Now that he thought about it, he did remember some vague mention of it the other day... god damnit.

"Of course. How could I _possibly_ forget." The eyeroll was woven into his words. "You worry too much, Cap'n."

Steve sounded annoyed now. "You bring it upon yourself, Stark. See you there."

"Bye-bye."

This was just _wonderful_ timing_._ Trust Nick Fury to drag everyone to HQ on a Sunday, of all days.

Tony rested against the wall yet again, cursing under his breath at the realization: this meant that he would have to leave Loki, the God of Mischief, here in his penthouse.

_Alone_.

This increasingly familiar feeling of confliction that came along with hiding the enemy in one's bedroom was tugging at the back of Tony's mind. He knew that despite Loki's...personality, the injured god was harmless even unsupervised—even though he'd regained consciousness, that was about all he'd regained. Really, the worst he could do right now was continue to bleed all over the sheets and maybe toss a pillow or two overboard if he decided to have a tantrum.

Still, he didn't like it. In fact, he _really_ didn't like it. It felt as though if he left the building for more than a few minutes, Loki would seize the opportunity to make Tony's life hell in every way he could manage, and as much as it killed him to admit, Loki disappearing into the streets of Manhattan was the quickest way to do just that.

Funny, he thought, how difficult this was. Things were different before. Easier. No questions asked, no sleepovers, not even a bed; only anger, insults thrown like knives, self-loathing channeled through rough kisses and remembered by bite marks. He knew it was meaningless lust to the Asgardian, and he'd needed a release, but now Loki was here, vulnerable, attractive as ever.

Tony was not one to trust easily—a gaping hole had _literally_ been left in his chest, after all—and he most definitely did not trust Loki. Regardless, he either needed drop the bomb to his teammates at this meeting, or put all of that _bullshit_ aside and take the risk that helping Loki was as good an idea as it felt.

He shook his head, frustrated; he had no choice. _Selfish. Stupid._

As he re-entered the bedroom, he tried very hard not to immediately take back those last words at the sight of the half-naked god, curled loosely against a pillow.

It was upon buttoning his pair of dress slacks that he heard a sleepy voice, slightly muffled by fabric.

"I missed you too."

Tony hesitated at the words. He had been silently praying that Loki hadn't actually remembered the drunken exchange, and he couldn't tell if he was being mocked or if Loki was actually showing _affection_. _Definitely mockery_, he thought.

"Glad to see your memory is still working, unlike the rest of you."

Straightening his tie, he turned to face the bed.

"I'll be back later tonight."

Silence.

Swallowing his pride, he forced himself to meet Loki's gaze. "Look, I... hope the stuff earlier helps. The pain, that is. I can tell you're in a lot of it."

Loki still did not speak, a weird mixture of disdain and amusement in his eyes.

"You best be here when I get back. I'm not done with you. Oh, and don't break my stuff."

His warnings were met with an glare and an attempt at speech. "I will do as...I please. However, given my current state, I do not...think you should be concerned with such things."

"I still don't trust you, sunshine." He met Loki's glare with a wink.

He was across the hall before the god could reply.

* * *

The Chitauri leader was tapping cold fingers against the steely column of his staff. He was anything but patient, and he had been waiting far longer than was acceptable in such a critical situation.

"This so-called...assassin...is running very late. I do not take kindly to such disrespect."

His assistant spoke nervously. "I assure you, he is worth the struggle. There are none in the nine realms more qualified for this task than he."

Bowing his head, the leader continued tapping, the noise echoing throughout the chamber. "You best be correct."

* * *

If Loki was sure of one thing—and these days, it was hard to be sure of anything—it was _boredom_. Ever since he had awoken, the hours were slipping by with excruciating slowness. His mind was an aching haze; the medicine that the mortal had given him miraculously helped to ease the pain, but in its place was a sense of utter restlessness and frustration._  
_

Perhaps it was due to such feelings that the god now found himself lying on his back in the middle of Tony Stark's kitchen, licking a sticky, sweet substance—Nutella, the label had read—off of his fingers as he emptied the container.

Yes...it had to be those Midgardian drugs.

At first, he had tried to force sleep upon himself yet again; being alone for the first time since his imprisonment was allowing the reality of his situation to sink in in ways he was not yet comfortable with.

It was pathetic, really. Here he was, the God of Mischief, weak and helpless in the home of none other than the man he had been trying to kill just weeks ago. He was disgusted with himself, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind; things could be _much_ worse, he knew that well.

Truly, it was shocking that he was here. Not locked up in a dirty cell, not being shoved and questioned by Fury and his agents, not dead. There was still a lingering suspicion that Tony was tricking him, that he would return here with the rest of the Avengers, but Loki knew a liar when he saw one. Tony had always been terrible at hiding the truth.

Still, his magic felt distant, as did his strength—he was powerless in more ways than one. It would take days for him to be able to do more than sightly speed up the healing process, maybe weeks for him to return to his normal self...

He was stuck in Stark Tower for the time being, whether he liked it or not. What an awful realization.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving the penthouse shrouded in the glow of appliances and dim lamps. Sharp pain had dulled to a distant ache; his body felt stiff and heavy and he was unable to summon the energy to lift himself off of the marble floor, savoring the chill against his flesh.

His mind felt fuzzy and the initial numbness had transformed into something quite foreign—as though tiny chemical tongues were lapping at his every nerve, flooding him with a sense of relief and euphoria. This was_ heavenly_.

In his half-asleep, drug-induced fog, Loki almost didn't register the sound of a door slamming. Footsteps sounded miles away, as did an odd shuffling sound... was it coming from the bedroom?

"Fuck."

The god lifted his head slightly at the sound of the voice. Was that Tony?

"Where the hell are you hiding, you lying bastard?"

Definitely Tony. Loki couldn't help but let out a small giggle at the panic in his voice.

Soon, he was squinting up at the silhouette that was now kneeling beside him.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop grinning. You look like the cheshire cat, and it's creeping me out. How did you end up here, anyway?"

Only when he tried to form words did he realize how dry his mouth was. Whatever words he was planning on speaking came out as a weak groan.

"Oh come on, don't pull this silent treatment bullshit with me. You were able to _move your entire body, _not to mention steal my Nutella." Tony was picking up the container, re-screwing the lid. "Good stuff, isn't it?"

Loki was slowly trying to prop himself up on his hands, tongue feeling like clay. "Water." It was more of a realization than a command.

He let his eyelids droop as the sink hissed, suddenly feeling something cool and hard press against his lips. He hurriedly grasped the glass, hands roughly covering Tony's, tipping it so that the icy liquid poured into his mouth. The sensation was so soothing that he forgot to let go of the glass at first, noticing only when Stark tried to pull away, causing him to quickly release his grip and inch closer to the cabinet behind him. Now Tony was the one grinning.

Loki swallowed, throat feeling much more normal. "That is better. Whatever aid you gave me earlier today was surprisingly effective. I could no longer sleep, and grew tired of staring at your ceiling. Thus, I am here."

Tony was now sitting next to him, also leaning against the cabinet, head angled upwards.

"Well, that explains the giggling and the...being on my floor. I gave you a double dose, actually. I wasn't even sure if _that_ would affect you, mister Asgardian."

Ordinarily he would not take kindly to the reference to his former home, but it didn't phase him.

"I found it to be a rather enjoyable experience, actually. Much nicer than searing pain."

"Good. Glad to find my penthouse in one piece, too."

Tony paused, his voice becoming quiet. "Why _are_ you here, Loki?"

Ah, the million dollar question.

The silence between them suddenly became thick. Stark was waiting for an answer—an answer to the question that Loki had been asking himself all day. Trying to put that collection of thoughts, reasons, emotions, and excuses into words was causing his head to spin.

He raised his head, meeting the other man's eyes, searching for any sign of malice, any flicker of condescension or trickery.

"These drugs do not aid me in answering that, you know."

Tony smirked, bringing a glass full of amber liquid to his own lips. "Trust me, we're even."

"Was this your plan all along, Stark? Drug me, leave me alone all day while the effects set in, and then come back to interrogate me when I am unable to shroud the truth?" It was a feeble attempt at stalling, but the billionaire seemed to want to play along.

"Ouch! What an accusation. And here I am, trying to help you _not_ feel like absolute garbage."

"I am sure you had other intentions."

"I thought you might say that. Believe it or not, I have no plans of turning you over to anyone as long as you behave." He was laughing, now. "I am completely insane. I am sitting here, drinking scotch with _Loki_. I really hope you you don't kill me in my sleep, or I'm going to look like an idiot."

Loki sighed, resigning himself to sincerity, no willpower to maintain his cold exterior.

"I do love how that is more of a concern than death itself."

He averted his gaze, focusing now on the wall opposite them.

"I find this...difficult. Every fiber of my being wants to spit in your face, to tell you how...how disgusted I am to be in this situation, how I wish I could be elsewhere. But that's...well, I'd be lying. I'm good at that, you know."

"Yeah, well, thanks for not lying. Kinda strange, coming from the _God of Lies_."

Loki couldn't help but smirk bitterly at that. "I may have the talent, but I do not always enjoy it. It is a blessing and a curse."

"Does anyone else know you're here?"

"I do not know. I have interacted with no one else here, but the Chitauri are bound to notice an empty cell. However, I do not imagine they will want to attempt another attack after your little...gift."

"Wait. Chitauri? You mean your father just...handed you over to a bunch of psychopathic aliens?"

He tilted his head back so that it rested against the cabinet door. "They were disguised. I was unable to speak, and both he and Thor believed me to be taken away to a painless death."

Concern was edging on Tony's words. "Since when can they shape-shift?"

"Only a small number are able. They do not posses an army of shape-shifting beasts, if that is your concern."

"Well, now I can see why you didn't just head back to Asgard."

"Yes. I am not welcome there; I would quickly find myself in another prison of some kind, or at an execution. I deserve that."

There was a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Loki, _no one_ deserves the kind of torture you had to endure. That's absolute bullshit."

"I disagree." He was trying desperately not to let any emotion into his voice, but the drugs were making any sort of mask difficult to maintain. "I have disappointed my family, killed my true father, alienated races, caused pain, death, destruction without a moment's hesitation. I am nothing but a _monster_, don't you understand, Stark? You could _never_ understand, I—"

Any further protests were lost in Tony's mouth as he pressed warm lips against Loki's own, sending a chill down his spine. The kiss was hard, urgent; feeling the man hungrily recapture his bottom lip caused something deep inside him to break that torture could not; hot, salty tears mixing with the taste of alcohol and chocolate.

It didn't last long, and he tried not to gasp as Tony pulled away. He felt a sudden wave of fear, not used to being seen like this, let alone touched. It was so much easier to hide behind hate and control. This was nothing like before.

"I _do_ understand, Loki. More than you know." There was pain in his voice. "If I've learned anything, it's that it doesn't _matter_ what you've done. It matters what you're doing...what you're doing _now_. Don't fall into that trap. I have. All it does is create excuses and lies and you'll never change. You'll lose yourself."

Loki had pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his hands, face turned away. "Wise words. I underestimated you, Tony Stark."_  
_

"I know. It's okay."

They sat together in silence for a while, only broken by the occasional sound of Tony sipping his drink. Loki allowed himself to lean back yet again, eyes heavy, surprisingly comfortable. Somehow, alone together in the dark kitchen, sitting side by side on the floor, he felt no desire to run, no nagging urge to be elsewhere.

Almost asleep, he flinched slightly when he felt an arm around his back, another under his legs. He was being carried somewhere, but at this point, he was only concerned with sleepily burying his head in the warm space between Tony's neck and shoulder. He felt the soft mattress beneath him as Tony let go, blankets covering him shortly after.

Loki sleepily turned to face the billionaire who was now stretched out next to him and staring at the ceiling himself.

"I killed the last person who tried to tuck me in, you know."

Tony responded by wrapping his arms around Loki's waist, pulling the god into his chest in a way that mirrored their position the night prior. Loki instinctively pulled away, but strong arms were keeping him in place.

"Stay." Lips brushed the god's ear as he spoke.

Loki relaxed as much as he could. _Maybe this will not be so __horrible after all._


	7. Chapter 7

**Time for the plot to actually get going! Warning for semi-graphic torture at the start. **

**Let me know what you think in a review! I must know!**

Gloved hands were gripping the collar of his bloodied armor, leather digging into his neck, vision blurring from the lack of oxygen. A spasm of pain shot through him as his back slammed against the hard ground, a boot placed firmly on his chest, grinding sharply.

"Disgusting Asgardian _filth_."

The words rang in his ears like far away bells, echoing and distorting themselves, meaning nothing to his dizzy consciousness. The boot pressed harder into his chest, lungs ready to collapse, ribcage ready to shatter. The hands returned to grip his arm, no gloves this time, throwing him against another wall like a limp ragdoll. His mouth was flooding with the nauseating taste of copper, blood dribbling out of the corners as he smirked—he couldn't help but smirk, it was impossible to do anything else.

"I will remember this when you are _begging._"

He let out a soundless gasp as that reprehensible _boot_ slammed into his side, and was that a rib cracking? He had lost count of the broken bones days ago. Now the armor on his chest was being pulled away—if it could even be called armor in its current state. Still, it was rough and it rubbed against his raw flesh, causing pain to spread like fire across the welts and bruises, but this was nothing compared to what was to come, he knew. Nothing.

His breathing was ragged now, every gulp of air causing agony to spiral through his very core, and was oxygen really worth this, anyway? Now comes the sound of metal against metal, a high-pitched whine, the awful, familiar sound of a blade being sharpened; it was echoing off of the chamber's walls and if Loki could have ended it now, somehow, if only there was a way, he would have.

Those rough hands were back, pressing against his throat, binding his arms and his legs so that he could not fight back—so he could not struggle like he did at first, but now he was weak and broken and they both knew it was just a formality—and then it began.

Teasing at first, the sharp edge of the blade grazing his chest and drawing foreign shapes around his torso without causing harm. Not yet. A dark laugh from his captor caused Loki to bite his lip desperately, holding back all noise because he wouldn't let himself scream. _Would not scream. _Not this time.

It was a lie, straight from the mind of the liesmith himself, and he knew it was useless to think otherwise from the moment the grip on his throat tightened and cold metal suddenly pierced the flesh immediately next to his heart.

At first there was nothing but an icy chill, spreading throughout him as the blade sunk into his flesh. It was being dragged slowly—_so_ slowly—along his chest, and the fresh cut was forming as though his skin was made of soft butter—now the pain was blossoming as it shuddered through him in waves, warm blood coursing out and onto the floor, and he wondered how it was possible to bleed this _much_ while staying conscious.

The knife suddenly twisted, taking a sharp turn for the swollen flesh barely covering his ribcage and it was _too much_, the fresh wave of searing pain caused his vision to go white and now he could only cry out, channel all of his energy into his pathetic, broken voice and _scream—_

* * *

Loki awoke to a loud crash, his breathing heavy and his mind still somewhat hazy from sleep. It was a distant sound, and it was followed by a stream of curses. That voice sounded so _familiar,_ but he could not place it for some reason...and why was he covered in sweat?

Suddenly the door was thrown open and a worried Tony Stark was looking in at him, hesitantly approaching; now he was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes searching his own for _something_... but what?

And then, all at once, he remembered—the nightmares were flooding back, engulfing his mind like a sudden tidal wave. He only realized that he was shaking violently when he was quickly pulled into a firm embrace. A hand was stroking the back of his head and he couldn't help but shut his eyes tightly and lean into the touch even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was a bad idea.

Somehow, as tight as his throat felt and as hard as he was pressing his face into the billionaire's shoulder, he manged to speak.

"What are you d—"

"Ssssh."

It was not pity, Loki noticed. Not comfort. It was a simple request.

For a while, neither man spoke. Tony's hand was now still, and Loki's breathing grew steadily calmer as the memories faded, leaving him feeling a strange sense of emptiness and a twinge of discomfort. This was not the first time that the horrors of his past month in captivity had manifested themselves in the form of dreams, but it had been especially vivid. It surely did not _feel_ like a dream; he could still feel hands around his throat.

It was difficult to not let himself be distracted by the warm scent of Tony's cologne, the imagery that it brought with it, and suddenly the night before hit him—had Stark _kissed_ _him_? Oh god. The idiot mortal had, and Loki hadn't pulled away. And then...had they had gone back to bed together? He couldn't recall much detail. _Curse_ those Midgardian drugs. He had been a fool to take them.

Stark seemed to sense the god's discomfort, releasing his grip carefully and leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head, shattering Loki's panicked thoughts with a few words.

"The nightmares were the hardest part."

Loki held back a bitter laugh. What a ludicrous notion. The billionaire, the playboy, telling _him_ what it was like to have such haunted dreams? But there was such sincerity in his voice that while Loki turned away, he continued to listen.

"Sleep was always a luxury. Closing my eyes for longer than a few seconds was hard enough. Having my head forced into icy water, eyes burning, feeling like my lungs were about to_explode. _Only to be given a taste of oxygen and plunged right back in again. I had a hard time taking showers for a while." There was amusement in his voice, now. "Blacked out the first time, actually. 'bout gave Pepper a heart attack, I think."

This was vulnerability that Loki had never imagined possible coming from a man he had only seen act with confidence and wit.

"Of all people, I would not have expected you to relate." He kept his gaze averted, refusing to look in Tony's direction.

"You continue to underestimate me, sweetheart."

Loki tried not to cringe at the pet name. "You give yourself too much credit."

Tony only laughed.

It was amusing, really, knowing _exactly_ where to let his tongue wander on sensitive flesh, precisely how hard to tug on that short, brown hair to cause Tony to moan expletives into his ear, and yet, at the same time, he knew next to nothing about "Iron Man" beyond the arrogant public persona.

Loki had to admit, he was _terribly_ curious as to what was underneath.

He turned slightly, emerald eyes searching Stark's face for any sign of deceit, but finding only understanding. Perhaps it was the wrong move to continue to make such an effort to keep himself and his past a secret from this man. For some reason—likely insanity—he _wanted_ to let his guard down, if only just to calm his mind.

"I have endured much harsher pain than this, Stark. Why these dreams continue to plague me I do not know. It is almost as though some of that darkness that enveloped their prison has followed me here, latching onto my heart, causing me to feel it always. I felt the same as I did when I was in that wretched cell...like any strength or willpower I had remaining was being weakened."

"Alien magic?"

"It is possible. The Chitauri are not a race to be taken lightly...not that you seem to think so, of course."

Now, there was something resembling lightheartedness to Loki's words.

"Hey, I took them plenty seriously. Almost got myself killed."

Tony was silent for a moment before sitting up. "Speaking of which, how are the injuries? I have more bandages and shit in the workshop if you need 'em."

"Surprisingly, the treatment you provided was quite helpful. I heal at an accelerated rate already, so things are much more...bearable than they were yesterday." Loki decided not to comment on the fact that his magic was not returning nearly as quickly. He had used up more energy than he thought he would when he transported himself here, but he knew it was a necessary evil.

Tony stood up, walking towards the door. "Well, if you want breakfast, I'd recommend joining me in the kitchen. It'll be a bit, though...there's pancakes and coffee all over the floor, now. Jarvis?"

"Already being taken care of, sir."

Loki briefly considered yelling after him that he was not interested in his so-called breakfast, if only to show that he _could_, that he still had some amount of control over this maddening situation, but the smells coming from the kitchen were causing a pang in his stomach that he could not ignore. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in over a month, though it felt like years. _  
_

"I hope these 'pancakes and coffee' are worth the effort of moving."

"Oh, you'll love 'em," Tony called. "I promise!"

Loki could only roll his eyes.

* * *

Pepper Potts hated being late.

It was Monday afternoon. There had been an investors meeting that morning at Stark Tower, and _of_ _course _Tony cancelled on her at the last minute. She really should have expected it, and honestly, it didn't make much of a difference whether she saw it coming or not.

When Tony wasn't there, things always ended up taking twice as long as they should have. It meant having to explain everything on her own, things that Tony understood _so_ much better than she did; he could have the board happy and ready to leave in the time that it took her to simply fabricate an excuse for his absence. At least she was convincing.

She tried not to let it get to her; she was used to this. This was her job. This was what she was paid so well to do.

It may have come off as more than mild annoyance as her shoulder clipped strangers on the sidewalk, pace almost at a run. It was 11:39. That left her twenty minutes to pick up the coffee order, stop by the bakery, get back to the car, grab Tony's dry cleaning—well, maybe she'd skip that one today just to spite him—and have everything ready to go in the conference room for yet another meeting that Tony was bound to miss.

Pepper was so deep in thought that afternoon that she completely failed to notice the shadowy figure that had been following behind her for the last three blocks. She barely registered the way her senses were starting to dull, her focus slowly slipping—blamed it on the caffeine withdrawal—and then she was at her car, and it was too late.

A man was standing in front of the door, masked face and disproportionate hands, and she suddenly felt weak, opening her mouth to cry out for help, but her voice wasn't working—_why_ wasn't it working? She felt herself falling towards the pavement, unable to do anything but submit as her vision swirled away into blackness.

* * *

"Stark, there is no way that this amount of...what did you call it, syrup? This has to be too much."

Tony was lazily pouring maple syrup on his own stack of pancakes, watching with amusement as the raven-haired god seated across from him poked at his food suspiciously.

"Look, trust me. This is how it's done in America."

Loki scoffed, setting his fork down in favor of a small spoon that he was now using to stir sugar into his coffee.

"I do not doubt it. It seems everything here is done to excess. Even the consumption of alcohol."

"_Especially_ alcohol."

"Of course."

"Look, I'll show you—," he paused to stuff a rather large bite into his mouth, sticky syrup dripping onto the table. "Drishus."

"Disgusting is more like it."

"What, do you want me to feed you?"

That earned him a glare. "I will _end_ you."

Tony couldn't help himself. This was too much fun_. _He used the side of his fork to scoop up another bite, smaller this time, and held it in front of Loki's mouth. "Open up, buttercup."

For a moment Loki's eyes filled with rage and Tony honestly expected him to pull out a knife and keep good on his threat, but then the rage was replaced with something far deadlier—something _familiar_.

The god leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the fork, tongue slowly catching the extra syrup in a motion that was _completely_ unnecessary, and oh god, now he was looking up through that curtain of black hair...clearly that bastard knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he finally slid his mouth off of the utensil, smirking and licking his lips.

Tony's mouth was hanging open, fork still extended despite nothing being on it. Loki was now leaning back in his chair, still smirking.

"You asked for it, Stark."

"I—well—thats..."

"These pancakes are surprisingly good, considering they were prepared by _you_."

Tony couldn't decide if he wanted to throw his plate at the bastard's smug face or lunge across the table and really show him what the word delicious meant. He instead decided to continue shoving forkfuls of food into his mouth, glaring the entire time. Loki pretended not to notice, silently eating his own pancakes with much more grace.

He was about to recommend that Loki try drinking some of the coffee before it got cold, but he stopped when the god suddenly dropped his fork, looking upset.

"Stark, there is someone at your door."


	8. Chapter 8

**This took far too long to write. Sorry. I hope the extra length makes up for it. Also, I finally gave in: find me on tumblr at sylaha if so inclined.**

**Warning: end of the chapter is M for a reason. Enjoy!**

* * *

Tony froze. Suddenly his mouth was dry, and it took him a moment to process Loki's words.

"Who—what?"

He was hit with a terrible sense of dread (or was it fear?); something akin to the sharp sensation he felt when sneaking around his father's workshop unattended. It would be an understatement to say that this was a much more severe situation; here he was, feeding_ pancakes_ to Asgard's very own God of Mischief.

"Whoever it is, their energy does not...appear to be human."

"That's impossible. Completely. This place is_ absolutely_ secure; Jarvis would have alerted me to a break-in-"

"Stark, they are ascending to this floor in that metal box of yours." Loki's voice was gravely serious. "I must not be seen."

Tony felt a sudden wave of panic hit him, and he nearly felt sick. Before his injured guest could protest, he was on the other side of the counter, picking Loki up roughly, a sloppy bridal-style that caused the god to bite his lip in pain. "What do you think you are doing?" he hissed.

"You—agh—can't be seen. It'd take you—nng—twice as long to get back to the bedroom by yourself." Now sweat was forming at Tony's temples as he mumbled through gritted teeth. "God _damnit_, you're heavy."

It was more of a limp than a walk at this point; hurrying desperately while trying to convince his arms to keep hold of Loki's frame was proving to be a struggle. _Shit_, he was far too exhausted for this right now, let alone whatever had managed to break into his penthouse.

"Stark, hurry—"

Loki stopped cold, cut off by the muted ding of the elevator. This was it.

Realizing that hiding was no longer an option, Tony stopped, holding his breath as he slowly turned around. He had been so caught up in getting Loki somewhere out of sight that he'd completely forgotten to ready any sort of defense or protection from himself.

_Stupid._

Cursing himself, his mind raced as he quickly decided on orders for Jarvis.

But instead of issuing commands, he exhaled sharply, relief flooding his body. There were no Chitauri, no other freaky alien race here to collect.

"Bruce motherfucking Banner. I hope you realize how close you just came to giving me a heart attack."

For some reason, the man did not return the greeting. He wasn't exiting the elevator, a look of concern twisting his features—and was that a hint of anger?

Oh, right. God of Mischief.

In his arms.

"I...shit." Bruce wasn't supposed to find out like this. Not at all, in fact.

Loki also looked relieved, but that was quickly trumped by embarrassment. He must have realized how silly they looked, pushing away from Tony's grip as he staggered to his feet, slumping against the nearest chair.

This wasn't good. "Look, I can explain. Well... I can try to explain."

At this point, Bruce looked almost panicked, and he took a step back, taking deep breaths.

Tony recognized that look. There was anger swirling in the man's eyes and it _wasn't going away_.

"Oh god. Please don't Hulk out in my elevator." He was desperate to lighten the mood. "I did just finish fixing the place, remember? I like having windows, I like my furniture, and I'd really rather not go back to sitting on the floor eating takeout."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Loki was clutching his side, wincing. It took all of Tony's willpower to keep focused on Bruce. Perhaps he had been a bit too rough with the carrying maneuver. Oh well. _You shouldn't care, remember?_

The silence was thickening. Tony was inching towards the elevator doors, arms extended like he was approaching a scared animal, attempting to be reassuring. "Bruce, you have to trust me on this one. Just... come in, let's sit down. Let's talk."

For a moment it looked like things were going to get messy, but after a very long twenty seconds the scientist finally seemed to have calmed down, giving in with a sigh.

"Please, do start explaining. I didn't mean to interrupt your...date."

_Jesus_, that was a close call. Tony responded with an eyeroll, gesturing towards the group of chairs, one of which now occupied by the god himself. Loki had closed his eyes, his breathing seemingly normal again as well.

"Thank you. Drink?"

Bruce sat down, giving Tony a look that said_ really, that's what you're asking?_ but Tony ignored it, pouring himself a tall glass of scotch.

"Tony, it's not even three. You amaze me."

He responded by taking a large gulp, relishing the burn as he swallowed.

"I do what I can."

Loki and Bruce had locked eyes, evaluating each other, causing Tony to wonder what was going through their heads. He supposed that he had some idea, at least.

"I suppose introductions aren't exactly needed here."

More silence. At least Loki was fighting a smirk.

"I haven't really... thought this speech through yet. Everything just kind of happened, all at once, and—"

"You shouldn't have a_ speech _to prepare." Bruce was unusually cold. "Are you out of your mind? Why hasn't anyone been contacted yet?"

"Bruce, it's not that easy. You _know_ SHIELD wouldn't give me a chance to explain this, or have any sort of say, for that matter. Loki's the bad guy, I get that, believe me. I nearly got myself killed cleaning up the mess he made. I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't absolutely _sure _it was the right choice."

"And what exactly _are _you doing? Loki is supposed to be...well, you were there when Thor gave us the news."

"Yeah, I know. Turns out that, well..."

Before Tony could finish, Loki had risen to his feet.

"Thor was...mislead."

Bruce looked less than convinced, but the god pressed on.

"You have no reason to trust me, I realize, but what I say is fact. The Chitauri may be weak, but they are still a very real power, and they...do not forgive easily. My task was to secure the tesseract, and I did not succeed. Their shape-shifting abilities were strong enough to fool the Allfather himself, let alone _Thor_, neither of which posess magic strong enough to have detected the Chitauri trick. I was not taken to an execution, but to a prison."

Tony was amazed. Here Loki was, speaking with impeccable calmness, the usual malice and condescention absent from his words. It did make sense, though—Loki had a hell of a lot on the line right now.

Bruce looked less angry—now his eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Tony couldn't blame him. After all, some of this was news to him, too.

"I still have a hard time feeling any sympathy for you. Chitauri tricks or no, you brought this upon yourself."

Loki's eyes were cold. He reached down, hesitating slightly before lifting his shirt, revealing the expanse of bruises and gauze-covered lacerations that were proof of the torture he had endured. They had healed somewhat, but not by much; even Tony had to look away to keep from gagging.

"The...Chitauri did that to you?"

The trickster only nodded, letting black silk fall to cover his chest as he sank into the chair once again. Tony took that his cue.

"See the gauze? _That's_ what I've been doing, Bruce. He was almost dead when he appeared here. Villain or not, that isn't the kind of punishment anyone deserves."

His voice almost sounded desperate now. Tony Stark was not a man accustomed to begging, but Bruce was different, this was different; Tony needed his trust.

"Please. SHIELD can't know about this. That would only make it worse. Ten times worse. This has to be a secret. I know what I'm doing." The last part wasn't completely true, but he needed the extra dose of reassurance, both for his friend and for himself.

The silence lingered for a few minutes, and Tony could almost see gears turning in Bruce's mind. Normally he'd still be talking, filling up the silence with further persuasion, but now he could only hold his breath, waiting for Bruce to say something. Anything.

"I don't like this, Tony. I really, _really_ don't."

His face was in his hands. "Fine. It's our secret. You nearly died last month fighting this guy, so you of all people understand what's at stake here. Just...please, _please _don't get yourself killed."

Tony felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off of him. "Thank god. Thank _you_."

Loki tilted his head back against the chair, hands folded in his lap. Soundless gratitude.

"And before I forget, Banner, how the _hell_ did you get into my penthouse without me knowing?"

Now Bruce was smiling, shaking his head. "You really _were _drunk." He held up a silver card, the Stark Industries logo stamped onto the front in blue ink. "Remember giving me this the other night? 'Drop by anytime, I'll give you the full tour'?"

"Did I say that? Damn. I must have."

Well, that explained why Jarvis hadn't said anything to warn him. That made Bruce one of two people to posess that kind of access to the place, Pepper being the only other.

Truthfully, It made Tony a bit nervous—of course he trusted the guy, but having a master key was a big deal, and _damnit _he really needed to be more careful with making drunken promises. He didn't exactly have the time or the energy to show Bruce the intracicies of his workshop, and when you factored Loki's presence into that equation...

"So about...is that why you're—"

"No, don't worry. I'm not here for that." Bruce sighed, leaning his head back. "I guess this is a good time to change the subject. I have some bad news."

Oh. Suddenly that tour was sounding more appealing.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Tony, Pepper is missing."

It was as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. _Missing?_

"She didn't show up to a meeting this afternoon. Very unlike her, according to everyone I've talked to. Her car was still parked on the street, but there was no trace of her otherwise."

"Who knows about this?"

"I was sent by Fury. He thought I'd break the news best, I guess. Interesting logic. SHIELD knows, and they've got Clint and Natasha on it as we speak."

Tony was racking his brain for any possibilities. Who was she supposed to meet with today? Could they have anything to do with this?

"Look, you won't like this, but you have strict orders from Fury to do nothing. Stay here, stay busy, but do _not _go looking for her."

Tony stood up, downing the last of his scotch. "What the hell does he mean, do nothing? I'm not going to just sit here like an idiot." He knew he was shouting at the wrong man, but it was hard to do anything but shout.

"Fury suspects she was abducted. Something about signs of struggle at her car. This isn't easy. Trust me, Tony, I get it, but you have other priorities right now."

"I can't, Bruce. I have to help her. God knows it's probably got something to do with one of my enemies. My fault."

"Clint and Natasha are the best in the business. They're going to find her and whoever was responsible, and you're going to keep working on the tech for the rebu—"

Glass shattered as tony hurled his empty tumbler against the wall, causing both Loki and Bruce to flinch.

"God damnit. God _fucking_ damnit." Anger was surging through his veins. Pepper was in danger, and he couldn't do _shit_ about it. He was going to have to sit here feeling useless, waiting for news, any sign of progress, somehow managing to resist the urge to go fix the problem himself.

This was going to be a nightmare. Sure, they'd broken up, but it didn't matter. She was still his best friend. She was Pepper, and her safety was everything.

"He's right, Stark." Tony had almost forgotten that there was a third person in the room. "You cannot—"

"_Shut it,_ Odinson." Harsher than necessary, but he couldn't help it. Not right now.

Loki's eyes narrowed at the words. "You will regret calling me by that name, mortal."

Tony bit his tongue, wanting to lash out, but knowing it was the wrong move, _especially_ with Bruce still here.

Instead, he poured himself another scotch, knocking it back effortlessly.

"Tell Fury not to worry. I'll be laying low."

"Tony...I'm sorry."

Bruce was standing now, eyes fixed on the bottle. The anger that he saw in his teammate's eyes was familiar; he knew what was going to happen, but what more could he do? Tony was stuck here, after all. Alone with his supply of booze. Well, almost alone.

"Loki, I cannot believe I'm saying this, but... take care of him, okay?"

The god only laughed dryly.

* * *

After what seemed like hours to Loki, the elevator doors slid shut, and once again, it was just the two of them.

For once, Loki was not sure of what to do. All of the comfort and concern he had felt from the man earlier had been replaced with venom and distant eyes; everything about Stark's body language made him want to retreat to the bedroom, pulling sheets over his head and disappearing until this anger passed. He was not afraid, but even in his youth, he had always hated dealing with emotions.

Banner's words rang in his head. _Take care of him, okay?_

He was cautiously walking towards the kitchen, surprised at how easily he was able to do so. Perhaps Tony had been wrong to try to carry him earlier.

"I do not think it wise to drown this problem in alcohol, Stark."

Tony didn't even acknowledge the words.

The pancakes were still sitting on the counter, oozing syrup, unfinished. Loki picked them up, walking over to the bar and setting them down next to the scotch bottle. Tony was leaning back against the granite surface, swirling the remains of a drink absentmindedly, face still twisted in anger, perhaps in pain.

Loki was standing in front of him, knowing full well that this was a stupid idea, but unable to leave it alone. _You're going to do more harm than hurt_, he told himself. He spoke anyway.

"You ought to finish your breakfast, at least. Wouldn't want to waste."

Tony raised his eyes to meet Loki's own, and the piercing, anguished look in his eyes caused Loki to swallow hard. It was all too familiar.

"Leave me alone, you bastard."

"No."

Loki searched for something more to say if only to fill the silence, but Tony was staring at him intently, almost like a challenge. The trickster was returning the gaze, a flicker of anger in his own eyes as he opened his mouth to hurl some sort of insult at the man, but the insult never came.

He felt his back hit the wall as he was roughly shoved against it, and for a moment he thought that Tony was going to attack him, but instead the man closed all distance between them, crushing his lips against Loki's own.

The kiss was bruising, hard; the contact caused Loki to gasp, and suddenly Tony's tongue was in his mouth, exploring and tasting of syrup and liquor, and _god_ did the warmth feel good.

It was clear that Tony wasn't pulling away this time, nor was he asking permission. Loki briefly considered stopping him, but this was _so _like before, so familiar and rough, that he could only return the kiss, tongue fighting for dominance as he gripped Tony's hips, hands running under the thin cotton shirt to trace the muscle underneath.

Now Loki was pressing his lips along Tony's jaw, biting a trail of kisses down his slightly unshaven neck, pausing to run his tongue over the man's adam's apple, smirking against flesh as it elicited a gasp.

"You wanted this," he murmured, and he knew that they both had, but they'd never admit it.

Tony responded by running his palm up Loki's thigh, tracing the outline of his erection and causing Loki's hips to press into the touch. Now Tony was smirking, teasing knowingly and without hesitation.

All of Tony's anger seemed to be channeling into this moment; one hand was pinning Loki's arms against the wall, the other busy finding the buttons on the god's pants, pushing them down roughly. Loki knew that it would have been easy to break free, to take control, but he let himself be overpowered; Tony needed this.

"Sta—oh," he breathed, feeling Tony's hand on his cock, direct contact this time, stroking slowly; he couldn't help but buck his hips into the man's touch, realizing that he too needed the release. It had been so long.

"_Fuck_, you're wet." Tony's mouth was at Loki's ear, sucking and nibbling on his earlobe as he slid his thumb over Loki's head. Loki's breathing was becoming heavier, eyes lidded and dark, and he felt Tony's movements quicken, gasping as waves of pleasure washed over him.

It was hard to force himself to pull away, but he did; Loki had always needed to be in control when he got this close.

Jerking his arms free, he turned them so that Tony's back was now against the wall, his hands pressing against those strong shoulders, briefly capturing Tony's lips, sucking hungrily on his tongue. Tony always tasted like some combination of booze and chocolate; deliciously bittersweet.

Moving his mouth to the man's neck, he impatiently pushed Tony's jeans down towards his knees, pressing his own hips forward when there was no longer fabric in the way. The contact caused them both to groan, fingers tangling in hair and nails digging into flesh, Loki biting his lip, dangerously close.

Tony knew it, and clearly had no interest in giving up the reins, taking Loki's cock in his hand again, stroking harder this time. Loki couldn't help tipping his head back, panting as he allowed himself to thrust forward into Tony's hand. He hadn't realized until now how _badly_ he wanted this, how good it felt to let himself be undone.

"Come for me, Loki."

Tony's voice was impossibly rough, and it was all Loki needed; he was over the edge, shuddering through his orgasm, eyes fluttering shut as he moaned into Tony's shoulder, relishing the feeling of the possessive bite-marks that Tony was creating on his neck.

He stepped back, taking a deep breath, finally allowing his eyes to roam over Tony's body, skin glistening with sweat, but only for a moment—now it was his turn, and he traced slender fingers over Tony's length, using his other hand to press firmly against the man's shoulder so that he was pinned against the wall. Loki began stroking him slowly, agonizingly so, and he knew it was cruel to tease like this but he couldn't resist; the raw need he saw in Tony's eyes made it far too easy.

"Nng—faster? Please."

Instead of speeding up, Loki stopped completely, a noise of protest from Tony that quickly transformed into a groan as Loki's mouth enveloped Tony completely.

"_Jesus_ fucking christ, that's so—"

Loki shut him up with a flick of his tongue over the man's slit; now Tony was arching his back against the wall, fingers burying themselves desperately in dark hair. It was too easy, really—he sped up, moving his mouth intently as he swirled his tongue, each thrust causing a litany of _fuck_ and _Loki_ and finally an exhausted moan as Tony spilled into his mouth, breathing heavily.

Tony was leaning his head back, eyes shut and mouth open slightly, and for a moment Loki felt the strangest urge to kiss him, but the feeling passed as quickly as it came.

"_God_, you're good."

Loki smirked, pulling his pants up and walking over to the couch.

"You have no idea, Stark."

Now Tony was grinning, anger gone, at least for now. "Is that a challenge?"

"Desperate for more already, I see."

Loki curled up against the plush leather, face pressing into one of the pillows, eyelids drooping. His body ached from what had to be the most exertion he'd put himself through in weeks, but it was a dull ache and somehow he didn't mind.

The sound of Tony cleaning up the kitchen was distant; it sounded like the man was saying things, but he couldn't make out the words, unable to summon the energy to care. He had almost slipped into sleep when he felt a figure standing next to him, soft fabric being draped over his body, a mouth at his ear.

"I'll be in my workshop. Yell at Jarvis if you need anything."

Loki made a sleepy noise, the closest to a yes that Tony was going to get, and pulled the blanket tightly around him.

He knew that he should be feeling regret—disgust, even—but he didn't, not at all. Perhaps those would come later, but for now, he was glad for this return to familiar territory. This was so much easier than a hug or a gentle touch, things he did not desire—or at least, that's what he told himself.

Tony's voice echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but smile _ever_ so slightly as he drifted into a dreamless abyss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Guh. Thank you for being patient with my slow updates. I love you all. M for a reeeason!**

**Oh, I almost forgot. I went back and edited the chapters a bunch - mostly 1 & 2, the rest were just minor changes. I basically just made them more in character and less one-shot (since that's what it originally was). **

* * *

If Tony Stark hated anything, it was confinement.

At first, all he felt was anger. Angry at Fury, angry at Jarvis' voice, angry at the way his coffee sloshed over the side of his mug when he put it down too quickly, angry at the unsatisfying noise it made when he hurled it against the concrete—it was like a constant, throbbing burn in the back of his mind, flaring through his veins, sparking without much cause.

Tony was angry with _himself_.

On Monday, he had taken the express elevator to his workshop, blasting AC/DC as loudly as he could stand, trying desperately not to think as he collapsed into his chair. As life would have it, an email from Fury himself made any sort of escape a short-lived dream.

_On behalf of SHIELD and myself, you are forbidden from getting involved in this case in any way. If I so much as catch a trace of your IP on our systems, I will be putting a boot through your door. Please leave this to us._

_You have too much personal investment in this to begin with. Clint and Natasha are the right agents for the job. For now, we need you in New York._

_We're going to find her, Tony._

He had read it over a dozen times, words confirming what Banner had said earlier—all disbelief and bitter laughter, a hand running absently through his hair. Caged here like an animal. No information, no status report. Nothing but false hope.

It took two very long days, mapping out blueprints and fusing wires and designing circuits, loud music and coffee and slices of stale bread, short naps at his desk, enough to keep the gears turning, but the anger eventually subsided. The hateful, toxic burn had reduced itself to dull frustration, leaving behind emptiness, transforming into guilt and nausea and self-loathing—it was a familiar feeling; he knew he was stronger than last time, but _last time_, there wasn't someone else involved—least of all, Pepper Potts.

Bruce, the angel that he was, had rung him up to check on him—twice, actually, probably to make sure his _guest_ hadn't snapped and thrown him out a window again—but aside from their brief encounters, Tony hadn't heard a single word from any of the Avengers. Not even Steve. Steve fucking Rogers and his optimistic bullshit.

It was probably Fury's doing, keeping him isolated, though part of him wondered if Bruce was somehow involved too—preventing any surprise visits to Stark Tower was really for the best right now, he had to admit—but despite it all, he couldn't help feel a twinge of something—hurt? Hadn't they heard about Pepper's disappearing act? Shouldn't they have called?

This is what he got for trying to make friends.

Above all, things felt surreal. So much had changed in a matter of days that he sometimes had a hard time convincing himself that this wasn't all some horribly real dream. Maybe he'd wake up and everyone would be standing around him, laughing and shaking their heads—_"that's right, joke's on you, good one, guys"_—but it never happened. Not that he expected it to.

Since Monday, he hadn't set foot upstairs. Hours flew by, designing, repairing, revising, tweaking—anything and everything to keep his mind off of the present, the _clusterfuck_ his life had suddenly become. Not that he had much of a choice, with all the work that had been suddenly piled onto his plate.

He should have known it wouldn't be enough.

Fury had been laughably unsympathetic, sending him an endless stream of project updates, deadlines, modifications—maybe it had nothing to do with him, what with New York in a state of disrepair, but it sure felt like it was intentional.

Keeping him out of trouble. _Asshole._

Stark Industries didn't run itself, either—with Pepper out of the picture, everything was suddenly being forwarded to him, and _god_ was there a lot of paperwork. Tony _hated_ paperwork.

And then there was Loki.

They had been avoiding each other completely—well, that was mostly a lie. Tony was doing most of the avoiding in this case, asking Jarvis for an update every once and a while, knowing that if anything out of the ordinary happened, he'd know in an instant. It felt like hiding.

Probably because it was.

More accurately, he was having trouble convincing himself to go upstairs and check up on the guy—"_Hey, how are the injuries, need more gauze, and by the way, thanks for the blowjob"_—yeah, no, _not_ a good plan, unless he secretly _wanted_ to have his throat slit in the middle of the night.

Instead, reminding himself that a Norse god could fend for himself, he remained in the shop, throwing himself into his work like he was Fury's bitch—god, he really _was_ losing it, wasn't he?

Truthfully, the work was more than an obligation—it was a distraction. A distraction that was keeping him focused, productive—_sober._ He hadn't so much as touched the liquor cabinet in over 48 hours, and according to Jarvis, that was actually record book material.

He knew that it would be all too easy to shut everything out, to stop answering his emails, to snap his phone in half and lock himself in his workshop with a bottle of scotch and _forget._

He didn't, though. Not a drop. Not at first.

Unfortunately, Tony knew himself better than that.

The work wasn't enough. It was a temporary solution, a weak attempt at a fix—it was too easy to let his mind wander, too simple to second guess himself, asking questions that had no answers—where _was_ she? Was she hurt, alive, even? And here he was, supposedly some kind of _hero_, unable to so much as protect the one person who mattered the most. It was irrational, but Tony couldn't shut out the voice in the back of his mind.

_Useless. Trapped. Your fault._

Maybe the anger hadn't disappeared after all.

On the third night, Tony found himself slumped over in the corner of the workshop, the floor littered with metal shards and scraps of wire, remnants of the prototype for some robotic arm upgrade he couldn't bring himself to care about.

His stomach felt tight. All of the panic, the frustration, the _worry_—for three days, he had bottled it all up, gritting his teeth and resigning himself to silence. It was too much. The isolation was tearing at his mind like sharp nails; he wanted to yell like an emotionally disturbed teenager.

Instead, he was here, hair matted in his eyes, fist closed tightly around the neck of a bottle, the two swigs he had taken making his head buzz and his eyes flutter shut. _God, _it felt good.

Of course, as the universe would have it, peace wasn't an option. Maybe Jarvis had ratted him out, maybe Loki had just sensed it with his magical bullshit—he couldn't bring himself to care, because the elevator was hissing open; a tall, dark form was approaching him, and he had to press the bottle to his lips to avoid groaning audibly.

Bad timing was an understatement.

"Stark."

Loki was hovering over him, but Tony didn't lift his head, face level with glittering, black fabric.

"Nice pants."

"Did you expect me to remain without clothing?"

Oh, so that's how this was going to go.

"Would've given Jarvis an eyeful."

For a few minutes, Loki just stood there, still and quiet. It was unnerving.

"Can I _help_ you, or are you just going to stand there and be creepy?" he snapped, growing tense with the silence.

Loki still said nothing, and for a moment he thought that he was going to turn around and leave—instead, he just sighed, soft and frustrated, lowering himself to sit on the floor, sweeping away bits of metal to clear the spot to the right of Tony.

"It is not _wise_ to drown your problems in alcohol."

An obvious callback.

"Yeah? What exactly do _you_ know about drinking, princess?"

Loki sneered. "More than _you._"

"Prove it." Tony knew that was _dangerous_ territory, that there were few stupider things he could have said at that moment, but the third shot he'd taken was making the words easier.

Loki only laughed, pale fingers wrapping around the base of the bottle, tugging it away from Tony's grip.

"It'll dull the pain, unless you Asgaridans are immune."

"Oh, I assure you, we are not—however, I can also assure you that we are used to much more...powerful brews."

"Give it a try. C'mon." Dangerous, _dangerous_—but hey, getting drunk with the God of Mischief would definitely be another item off his bucket list.

When Loki didn't immediately answer, Tony shifted, turning, finally facing him for the first time, ready to make another jibe—instead, he stopped when he made eye contact. Loki's eyes were _cold_, piercing green and hard, and not at all amused.

Tony hesitated. "Or, you know, you could give it back. That's perfectly okay, too."

There was a surprising amount of vulnerability to his voice when he spoke. "I am cursed, Stark. Chitauri magic still pervades my being."

So there _was_ a reason for his sudden appearance.

"Yeah?"

"It was curious, when I made my escape—unusual, even, that I should feel such a drain on my mind, such a _blackness_ in my heart." He paused to set the bottle down, out of reach. "The nightmares were not without cause—I have been cursed from the beginning, and it has followed me here."

Loki turned slightly, returning the gaze in a way that kinda left Tony's mouth dry.

"Sounds like hell."

"I have been attempting to break it, unsuccessful albeit not without progress. It is making my wounds slow to heal."

Loki's voice was threatening to break, a trace of emotion to it that Tony didn't think possible coming from someone so collected and cold. It was clear that this curse was no joke—it had weakened the god, it was powerful enough to evoke such a change—and here Loki was, sitting beside him, sharing this...weakness, this vulnerability.

It was too much to handle. He couldn't deal with this, not right now, and he'd never know why he said it—but honestly, when did he ever think before he acted? So he _laughed._

"Great. Why should I _care_?"

Tony could tell from the way Loki's eyes darkened, how his body shrunk back ever so slightly that the words must have been like a slap across the face—he felt a twinge of regret, but he could only lean over, taking back the bottle of scotch, watching Loki eye him as he took another drink and relaxed against the wall.

In an instant, Loki had snatched the bottle from his hands again, glaring.

"Oh, gonna join me _now_?"

Tony didn't really register what had happened until he heard the sharp break of glass against concrete, saw Loki's arm extended and empty. The god's gaze was ice, but Tony could feel the rage bubbling up inside him, and he pushed all fear to the back of his mind, shoving Loki's shoulder and catching him off-guard so that he was forced to catch himself with his hand.

"You _asshole. _That was _very _expensive, imported—"

"Are you so _weak, _so _pathetic_ that you must seek solace in such indulgence? Is this what you call _peace_?"

Tony turned away, laughing bitterly.

"You wouldn't understand. You don't—it's Pepper."

Loki scoffed, and it took a lot of willpower not to punch him square in the face.

"How ludicrous. I_ understand _suffering, you insolent mortal, the kind of suffering than _you_ could not even begin to _fathom_—"

"No, not torture_—_you've clearly got that one under your belt. A+ in that class, I get it. But you're—you don't know what this is like, to lose the one person who—"

He stopped himself from going further down that road, forcing himself to lower his voice, though it was still pained and sharp.

"Knowing that they're somewhere, alone, that you can't do _shit _about it. You and your hatred—the numb, calculating mask you put on for the rest of the world—"

Loki cut him off, words dripping with venom, his face a mere inch from Tony's own as he spoke. "I am the _God of Mischief_; immortal, centuries of knowledge, pain and loss that your finite consciousness could not comprehend—and here you are, bold enough to wave this minor plight, this..._woman _around as though it is any more significant than the dirt on my boot? Pathetic."

Tony swallowed hard, realizing that he'd hit a nerve—Loki spoke with a terrifying passion, eyes wide and full of anguish.

"You know _nothing_ about me, Tony Stark. Nothing."

"Bullshit, Loki. _Bullshit._" He was yelling, now—Loki was pushing his buttons like it was a game.

"After all of this, after everything we've—here you are, you spit out a _lie_ as flimsy as that?"

He sighed, trying to soften his voice, unable to tear his eyes from Loki's, blaming the scotch.

"I know the way you like to wrap one arm around your chest when you sleep, keeping yourself guarded. I've heard you talk about Thor and Odin and other names I can't remember, mumbling into your pillow—I've _held _you, I've whispered things into your ear to—"_  
_

"Be _silent._" It was almost a shriek.

Tony had never been good at taking orders.

"I _do_ know you, Loki, more than you'll _ever_ adm—"

His words were caught in his throat as he felt a strong hand gripping him by his jaw, tight and unrelenting. It felt so much like on the day of the battle, but this time, there was no window for him to be thrown out of.

Instead, Loki slammed him into the concrete floor, causing his head to spin, coughing and sputtering. Such _strength_—clearly the healing was going better than he'd let on.

Tony was inching backwards, scrambling to get up, preparing to yell for Jarvis, but he stopped short when he felt a sudden weight on his thighs.

"What are you—"

"_Be silent._"

Loki was straddling him, pinning his arms to his sides without restraint, eyes ablaze and murderous—quite possibly the hottest thing Tony had ever seen.

He knew he should've been afraid for his life; somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him to grab his briefcase, to struggle or to fight back, but he hadn't moved an inch. Instead, he tried to catch his breath, letting his eyes roam over taut muscle, lingering on the pale column of Loki's neck as his chest rose and fell.

After about six seconds, he felt Loki hesitate, loosening his hold just enough that Tony was able to pull his arms free. What he _should _have done in that brief moment of power involved a nearby wrench and a phone call to SHIELD. Instead, his hands flew to the back of Loki's head, fingernails raking the line of his jaw as he pulled forcefully downward, crushing their mouths together, messy and rough, teeth against teeth.

Loki groaned—_groaned_—into the kiss, and Tony decided, right there, that he needed to hear more of that noise. His fingers buried themselves deeper into the god's dark hair, pressing firmly against the curve of his skull as he guided their mouths closer together.

For a while, that was all there was—their tongues sliding together, sucking and biting, warm breath and unrestrained desperation.

Loki finally broke the kiss, leaning back and leaving Tony gasping for air. Those emerald eyes darkened when Tony ran his palms roughly up the cool skin of Loki's stomach, pushing up his shirt, thumbs tracing muscle and bone. How such a lethal gaze could be that sexy, he would never know, but at the moment, he was really more concerned with removing as many articles of clothing as he could from this position.

The gesture was briefly returned, sending a chill down Tony's spine as long fingers grazed his sides. However, in one swift movement, Loki had gripped the fabric of his shirt and torn it open with _inhuman_ ease—that could not become a habit, he had some very expensive shirts—and as the arc reactor created a wash of blue light, he could have _sworn_ he saw that bastard lick his lips.

The thought was fleeting; Loki had lowered his head, flattening his slender form against Tony, being sure to press their hips together as he sucked open-mouthed kisses across the now bared flesh. They were anything but soft, and Tony knew that there would be bruises, but now he felt a warm tongue drawing circles along his pelvis, and he couldn't help but gasp, hips jerking at the sensitive touch.

Loki didn't tease or take his time, undoing the clasp of his belt and tugging on the oil-stained jeans until they were at Tony's knees, swallowing him easily and without hesitation, causing Tony to bite down on his lip hard enough to taste blood.

"F—fuck, Loki, fucking _christ_—," he managed to breathe, voice ragged and tight with pleasure, toes curling and fists clenched. Loki responds by sucking _hard_, head rising and falling, hands spread like starfish over his hips, wandering downward to stroke the inside of Tony's thighs. Tony groaned, deep in his throat, hips bucking again, unable to control himself.

Loki slowly raised his head, hand still tugging slowly at Tony's length, mouth curved into a smirk. "Oh, how _vulnerable _you are."

Tony narrowed his eyes at the comment. It was true—here he was, shirt torn and pants halfway off, at the mercy of a murderous deity—a _deity._

"You get off on it, I can tell," he murmured, pushing Loki away firmly, pulling his legs towards his chest to peel off his jeans and what remained of his t-shirt. Loki followed suit, and Tony's breath hitched when he rose to his knees, gazing down at Loki's swollen lips—he was panting, eyes swimming with desire, and oh, what the hell. Murder didn't sound so bad right now.

"Did I say you could _stop_?"

Tony's voice was commanding and lustful, and he must have done something right—almost immediately, Loki bent down, taking his cock into that _wonderful_ mouth again, tongue swirling slowly around the head. The new angle caused him to shudder, moaning slightly as Loki's hands gripped his ass, nails leaving marks. He copied the motion, fisting Loki's hair, holding it out of his face, feeling his orgasm building.

He jerked his hips reflexively, pulling Loki's mouth farther down his length, hesitating slightly at the small, muffled noise that Loki made. Just days ago, he was barely able to walk—was this painful?

When he paused, the god seemed to read his mind, understanding. Tony promptly abandoned all concern when Loki practically _devoured_ his cock, feeling the head brush the back of his throat, letting out a surprised moan. Eyes fluttering shut, he tightened his grip on the god's silky hair, letting himself thrust forward into Loki's warm, inviting mouth, panting and speeding up as he felt tongue repeatedly grazing his head, _just_ the right amount of pressure and suction and _oh—oh christ._

"L—Loki, oh,_ fuck_, babe,"—the sensation was overwhelming, and he came with a loud groan, dropping to his hands and knees, gasping. "That was—"

"Did I say _you_ could stop?"

Tony looked up, and Loki was hovering over him, breathing heavily, lips glistening with his come, and if anyone were to say that there was a more erotic thing in the universe, he wasn't convinced.

He couldn't help himself—leaning forward, he pulled Loki's chest flush to his own, pressing their lips together, hungrily licking inside his mouth and sucking on his bottom lip. It caused Loki to flinch, and he started to wiggle out of Tony's arms, but he only held Loki tighter, a hand snaking down to grip his cock as he growled into his dark hair. "Let me make you feel good."

"St—ah..."

Any further protest ceased when Tony began to slowly drag his hand along Loki's entire length, hard and slick with precome. He pushed Loki backwards, mirroring their earlier position, tongue and lips dancing across pale skin as he continued to stroke, making sure to avoid bandages and bruises. He knew he was being an absolute tease, but it was too enjoyable—Loki was writhing, eyes shut and hands gripping Tony's shoulders like they were the last thing on earth, emitting tiny moans every time Tony's mouth grazed the base of his shaft.

"Do not—ah—torture me like this," Loki managed to gasp, pulling on Tony's shoulders, trying to guide him to where he needed his mouth the most.

Tony gently bit his thigh in response, mouth dragging in an agonizingly slow fashion up Loki's shaft, grinning in satisfaction as he felt Loki shaking beneath him. Giving in, he took Loki into his mouth, sucking gently and letting his tongue press rhythmically against the underside, and in seconds, Loki's hand were in his hair, tugging _hard_, cock throbbing as he sighed through his climax, a long, throaty sigh, and Tony could've sworn he heard his first name somewhere in there.

Neither of them had the energy to pull themselves off of the floor—Tony blamed the alcohol and the exhaustion, but when Loki pressed his face into Tony's arm, one arm draped lazily over his shoulder, the other clutched tightly to his own chest, he decided that yeah, okay, maybe this could become a thing again.

As far as distractions went, this kinda blew work out of the water, anyway.


End file.
